Trust Not Yet Ye Be Trusted
by Armelle-Madeline
Summary: Harry's sixth year, Voldemort's followers rising, a new DADA professor, two more years of Snape, and a new girl. Pretty normal, really
1. The first night

A/N: Yes, I know it's a Sue. Don't look at me like that. It's a direct result of too much badfic, and PPC-ing. When you swim in it, you pick up... germs. Feel free to flame, MST and mock. I'm too disgusted with myself. And like most Sue-authors, I'm skipping pretty much everything until Hogwarts. Why bother? My Sue's not in it.  
  
*  
  
It was only at the Feast in the Great Hall that Harry noticed something rather odd. He looked over the heads of the bickering Hermione and Ron, presently discussing treatment of cocky first years, towards the teachers' table, and noted the addition of an extra teacher. Defence Against the Dark Arts professor seemed most likely. He shuddered at the memory of Umbridge, and swallowing a mouthful of shepherd's pie, he watched the new professor intently.  
  
He was a thin man, with a rather pinched face, sandy brown hair and worried- looking appearance, enveloped in his robes. Still, he was passing peas to Professor McGonagall, seemed to be harmless, wasn't wearing lavender, and didn't set off sparks of pain in his forehead, so he passed the first test.  
  
He caught Ron's eye, and indicated the new teacher. "Guess Snape missed out again?"  
  
Ron grinned back at him. "That's worth, I'd say, ten house-points from Gryffindor. Evil git. Tough luck we all picked Potions, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry shook his head, sighing heavily. "Snape for another two years." He continued the banter light-heartedly, ignoring the concerned look that never really seemed to leave his friends' eyes. Ron tended to forget to be sympathetic if Harry didn't appear unhappy, and Hermione hid her concern a great deal better.  
  
Presently, though, she was scowling at them both indignantly, chewing vigorously in order to tell them off with her mouth empty.  
  
"Honestly, you two, you'd think you'd set a better example to the first years," she shook her head in disbelief. Ron frowned, puzzled, and gave an exaggerated look around.  
  
"Hermione, there aren't any first years here. We're sixth years. They're too flaming scared of us. Except that new cheeky one on the train," he sniffed, with the wounded expression of a prefect whose authority had been flouted.  
  
As the two both continued to argue, Harry smiling at the predictability of his friends, he glanced back up at the table on the dais. A girl leant against the chair, whispering something in the new professor's ear. He frowned, as she looked up, regarded him calmly, then went back to talking with the professor, completely ignoring him.  
  
Harry shook his head, as Dumbledore rose from his seat, the last vestiges of the feast disappearing from the plates.  
  
"Another school year," he began, his gaze roaming over the four tables, each with their new addition of first years. To Ron's intense dislike, the cheeky one had joined the Gryffindors. "And even in these dangerous times, our students have come back to us. I wish to welcome you all," he extended his arms in a gesture encompassing the school, "A few announcements. Mr Filch would like to announce that products of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes are not allowed on the school grounds." Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile at that. Filch's loathing for his nemesises' products was well established by the end of the first hour of students arriving.  
  
"Hagrid would like to let it be known he is looking for several volunteers, third years or above, to exercise some of his new.." Dumbledore searched for a word, some of the students who had experienced Hagrid's lessons already looking fearful, and settled on, "finds for his classes. Professor Grubblyplank also joins us as an additional member of staff." He began clapping, signalling the students to do so.  
  
"Why do they want two professors?" Harry asked, completely baffled. Hermione sighed, and tsked.  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" she hissed. "With Voldemort on the rise, they want as much protection for the students as possible."  
  
Ah. Harry sank back, nodding vaguely. Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the Hall fell silent once more.  
  
"In addition, I would like to welcome Professor Reynolds," he indicated the man Harry had spotted earlier, who flushed a little pink, and nodded quickly. "As Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts." Dumbledore smiled, and folded his hands over his beard. "Prefects, please take your houses up to their dormitories."  
  
"That's us then," Ron said cheerfully. "Hermione, you get the annoying one."  
  
"Ron, he's a boy."  
  
"Still-"the red haired boy tried to argue as the two set off toward the first years. Harry stood up to go, and as he made his way towards the door at the end of the hall, when he brushed someone else in the crowd heading the same way.  
  
"Sorry," he apologised, turning around. The girl who had been by Professor Reynolds earlier smiled back at him.  
  
"It's all right," she said lightly. She frowned at him, stopping. "Hang on," she began slowly, staring at his forehead. "Are you-"  
  
"Yes," he replied, wishing there was a less time-consuming way of sorting out that he was Harry Potter, really. Her eyes widened.  
  
"Really? My dad wrote a whole paragraph on you," she exclaimed. She grinned at his puzzled expression. "He wrote a book. There are lots on that kind of thing, but Dad's boring like that. Bats about the dark arts." Obviously, his complete lack of understanding showed on his face. She laughed, and stuck out a hand.  
  
"Georgia Reynolds. Pleased to meet you. Dad's going to be thrilled, especially if you're doing DADA. He's the new professor here." Understanding dawned on him. She grinned at him companionably, the expression scrunching up her nose, an infectious smile, and he felt his lips quirk up into an answering smile. She had distinct resemblances to the man, he could now see.  
  
He noticed the normal clothing she wore, and frowned, puzzled once more. Georgia sighed.  
  
"Oh, obviously I was stupid to introduce myself now. I'm not at school here. Well, not in the literal sense," she shook her head ruefully. "Dad's a muggle-born, and my mum's a muggle. Me too, I'm afraid. Magic sounds dead fun," she added wistfully. "Dad got the job here, so we followed him. Mum's a teacher too, but a muggle, so she's teaching me, see?" He wasn't quite sure he did, but nodded anyway.  
  
"Maybe I'll meet loads of wizards and witches, and see magic besides Dad's"she finished hopefully. "I've known about it for ages, the wizarding world, I mean, and Dad was so hopeful, poor thing, that I'd be a witch. But I suppose muggle blood won out, and here I am." She sighed. She smiled once more at him.  
  
"Nice to meet you, anyway. I'd better go, probably scared you silly," she laughed. "See you, probably." She ran off toward the now empty corridor, leaving Harry feeling rather as if he'd been knocked flat. She talked a lot.  
  
A few things now cleared up, and far more information than he'd actually wanted to know about his new professor, including yet another mention of him on paper, he reminded himself with a wince, he headed toward Gryffindor Tower.  
  
*  
  
A/N: (the second) I probably should have included the perquisite description of Georgia, but she stuck her tongue out, and ran away before I could. As for the un-betaed state this is in, blame the Suvian tendencies. Furthermore, blame badfic. Any helpful suggestions, please don't. I know how bad this is, I far prefer flames. Unleash your inner evil. 


	2. Breakfast

A/N: I thought I wouldn't continue. Now, I will. But very, very long lengths between chapters. 

"Weird," Ron said, tossing back the covers of his four-poster. "So she's just living at Hogwarts, and her dad's one of your fan girls?"

Harry nodded, transferring a pile of robes from his bed to the chest at the end of it. "Yeah. Seems pretty ordinary. Her dad's a muggle-born, she's a muggle, her mum's a muggle-"

"That's really unusual," Ron commented, slipping into bed. "I mean, Dumbledore doesn't normally let muggles near the castle. I s'pose she counts as a Squib in some parts." He shrugged. "Probably part of the extra security. You know they're all going to be watching us this year. No sneaking into Hogsmede through the passageways." He grinned conspiratorially at Harry. 

"I've still got permission," Harry reminded him, thinking of the slip Sirius had signed for him. "Tonks and Moody backed it up, they've worked something out so they can do some legal magic stuff in this world." He smiled, thinking of the pink haired Metamorphmagus. She'd been a little annoyed with the Dursleys over the summer, and kept making surprise visits, to check he was being fed enough.

"Yeah," Ron yawned, settling into bed. He made a disgusted expression. "Urgh. Snape tomorrow. Double Potions," then fell back against the pillows, rolled over, and went to sleep. 

Harry looked around the dormitory happily, taking in every change. Hogwarts was home to him, more so than the Dursleys, or even the Order's headquarters. He'd refused to go back to Sirius's all summer, despite cajoling from Tonks. Mr Weasley had got better soon after the end of term, and he'd spent a week at Ron's, laughing at his friend's indignation over Ginny's current boyfriend. Voldemort had seemed very far away at the Burrow, except for the Daily Prophet articles showing scared faces, and terrified officials proclaiming the curfew to be mandatory now. 

He rolled over, scrunched up his face in disgust at the idea of a Harry Potter 'fan girl', even if the said fan girl was in his mid forties, and fell asleep, forgetting everything until the next morning. 

"That's really strange," Hermione commented, sprinkling sugar over her porridge the next morning. "I don't think non-magical people have ever lived on the grounds. Those anti-Muggle spells on the gates must have been dismantled briefly. It's quite interesting, if you think about it." Ron and Harry's expressions must have told her more than words could, just how un-interesting they thought it really was. 

"Wonder what she does for meals?" Ron wondered, forking a piece of bacon up greedily. "I mean, teachers have the top table. Students are Sorted."

As if in answer to his question, two figures appeared in the doorway of the Great Hall. A tall, and fairly slim woman, in her late thirties, whose blonde hair was piled into a loose bun, made her way to the top table, and sat down beside the new professor, helped herself to some porridge, and that was that. Georgia, however, looked shyly around the hall, searching for a place to sit. 

Unlike the previous day, she was now dressed in the students' black robes, and her thick hair was tied back neatly. She hovered on the verge of the Slytherin table, until a couple of jibes sent her across. Nearest to her was Gryffindor, and at the friendly invite from a couple of fifth years, gratefully, she sat down, only a few spaces away from the three. 

"Budge up, Ron," called Ginny, sliding along the bench to make room for the new girl. Obediently, they moved further up. 

"I'm Ginny," they heard Ginny explain, "And that's my brother further up. He's sixth year prefect for Gryffindor." Ron flushed, his freckles standing out lividly against the pink of his blush. Georgia nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears nervously. Her robe sleeves flapped at the wrists, much too big for her, they had a look of being made to do, sliding off her skinny frame, and occasionally dipping into her porridge. Her hair, they could now see, had been raked into a plait down her back, without it obscuring her face you could see the multitude of freckles dotting her skin. The only things fairly pretty about Georgia were her eyes, a hazel colour with gold-ish flecks when the light was right. They stood out in her face at the present time like a scared rabbit's. 

"I'm Georgia," she tried to smile back. "Sorry about crashing your table. I missed the wake up call earlier, when I could have eaten breakfast with some of the earlier rising teachers, and Mum said I should just pick a table, and sit down in a hurry." She shuddered, her shoulders rising. "Some of them aren't very friendly." She risked a glance over her shoulder at the Slytherin table.

Ginny's puzzlement was evident. "What?" 

Georgia's ears turned a delicate shade of pink. "Sorry. I'm doing it again. I'm not a witch, you see. Just an ordinary per.. muggle, I mean." She gave an awkward grin. "Still not used to the word. Up until last term I went to a normal school. We lived in Yorkshire, you see, then Dad heard about the job here, applied and Mum and I followed him. She's teaching me. Apparently there's a few classes I can watch," she smiled broadly now. "Mum's trying to bargain with Professor Snape to let us borrow the dungeons for Chemistry. That man seriously scares me," she pulled a face, pouring milk over her porridge. "Like an vampire or something." 

"Or something," Harry and Ron exchanged glances. That their Potions master was a former Death Eater was a fact Dumbledore had asked them not to disclose to the rest of the school, in light of Voldemort's rise to power. Some students, not believing Dumbledore's word would think he was still a spy and cause trouble. 

"Hello," Hermione extended a hand, and gave a friendly smile to Georgia. "I'm Hermione Granger. It's nice to meet you, even if it is a bit strange to meet a muggle in Hogwarts."

Georgia took her hand, and shook it. "Don't tell me about weird," she grinned back. "I'm in a wizard school. It's like something out of a book." 

"How old are you?" Hermione asked, politely, biting her toast. Georgia swallowed her mouthful.

"Sixteen. I'm in your equivalent year group," she answered, a little apologetically. "I'll be joining some of you for some things."

"That'll be interesting," Hermione said encouragingly. She buttered another piece of toast. "I remember coming from the muggle world and finding out I was a witch. There's so many differences, aside from the culture. Half of the wizarding world has no idea what muggles are like." 

"Yeah," Georgia agreed, but Harry could see, a little less happily. She climbed off the bench. "I'm not very hungry. See you around, possibly."

"That was strange," Ron commented, watching her go. Harry shook his head. He thought he knew what had happened. Georgia's difference to everyone at Hogwarts had struck home, past the excitement of being around magic. It was a feeling he knew all too well, as heads turned curiously from various tables to stare after the girl. Somehow, he knew that telling people what Georgia was feeling would not be helpful. Sympathy from people who were the reason for your embarrassment didn't comfort. 

Hastily he changed the subject. "We'd better get ready for Snape's lesson. He might take fifty points from us if it's one of us that's late." 

"Don't remind me," Ron groaned, and the three moved off to collect their books before the first lesson of the day.

A/N: This does revolve around Georgia a wee bit, but that's my claim for the Sue-title. I'm trying to keep the Mary Sue actions to a minimum. ^_^ Coming in next chapters... DADA with Professor Reynolds, a sit in from Georgia, and trouble from the Slytherins. 


	3. Matrixstyle DADA lessons

A/N: I should be preparing for my AS English exam tomorrow. I should not be writing fanfiction with a bad cold anyway, but Georgia has been pestering me since a discussion on FictionAlley set up a challenge – can a Mary Sue be likable? Human? (Georgia began dancing around, poking her tongue out and waving, singing nursery-rhymes at this point)  
  
So Georgia is back. –edit after chapter write. Or maybe she's not...  
  
/  
  
"I can't believe he did that!" Ron fumed, slinging his quill into his bag in a fit of bad temper, and accidentally breaking the nib. "Oh no, Mum'll kill me. That's the second quill that's happened to."  
  
"Well, we did expect it," Harry answered gloomily. An entire lesson at the end of Snape's biting sarcasm was a direct result of knowing a little more about Snape than the Potions Master wanted them to. The little occurance with Legilimency last year had given Harry an insight into the bitter man, whether he wanted it or not. Even that, though, Harry reasoned, wasn't enough to stop him loathing the man whose preconceptions had aided Voldemort to kill everyone he'd had as close family.  
  
"So how many points did we lose?" he asked, quickly changing the subject before his mind drifted off the point. Ron totted them up on his fingers, his lips moving as he counted under his breath. He looked doleful.  
  
"Enough."  
  
"What's next?" Harry inquired, trying to lighten the mood. Ron inspected the bit of parchment that had the class schedule on it. "We've both got Defence Against the Dark Arts, haven't we?"  
  
"Yes," Ron replied, stuffing the parchment back in his bag with a grin. "Professor Reynolds. Hah, wonder how Malfoy's going to take being taught by a Muggle teacher?" he looked almost gleeful at the prospect. Harry felt rather guilty; Malfoy's habit of making life difficult for the teachers he didn't particularly like had always been a problem.  
  
"At least we don't have Malfoy in lessons," he reminded Ron. At that point, Hermione caught up with them from Professor Vector's class, and the three proceeded to Defence Against the Dark Arts.  
  
/  
  
They found seats fairly close to the front, looking around the classroom. It had changed many times in the past, from large portraits of Lockheart on the walls to Umbridge's foul kittens, and now it was very different.  
  
Shelves of books stood against the walls, their spines green, red, blue and black, bound in shabby leather. Newer books clustered around the desk at the front, piles of books on the floor and tables. There were some pictures on the walls – an Eastern-looking tapestry rug hung in one corner, and some illuminations from old books were framed around the walls; large letters decorated with werewolves, mermaids, vampires and unicorns darting around them above texts describing what they were.  
  
It was a room full of old and curious things, apparently collected from places all around the world. The owner had an eye for ancient objects dealing with Dark subjects – a death mask from Africa stood in one corner which Hermione, on seeing, poked them in the arm and hissed that it was one of eighteen famed for being enchanted. As the noise rose, people chattering over objects they'd spotted, the door opened once more, and the professor entered.  
  
He wore mossy-green robes, plain and old-looking, as if he couldn't afford any better ones but they were neat and clean. They swirled around him as he walked toward his desk, placed a bag on top of it, and dug around in it, ignoring the excited students. Now that they had a better look at him it was easier to see what he was like.  
  
His sandy hair, much the same colour as Georgia's, was thinning on top, a small patch balding. It was longish, straggling around his face as if it needed cutting. Freckles dotted his hands and face, and as he pulled out an object triumphantly, and stood up, they saw that heavy eyebrows gave character to his mild face. He smiled at them almost timidly.  
  
"Good morning, class," he said. His voice was pleasant, not rich, exactly, but nice to listen to, and easily heard.  
  
"Can anyone tell me what this is?" he asked, holding it up in his right hand. It was a large amber stone, on a leather thong. Harry squinted to look at it better, but immediately, Hermione put her hand up.  
  
"It's an amulet, Professor. That one comes from Africa, used to ward off zombies," she said very fast. They looked at the teacher, waiting for his reaction. A gentle smile crossed his face.  
  
"Very good, miss-" he congratulated, pausing for Hermione's response to his question. "Five points to Gryffindor. This term we will look at ways of warding off Dark magic. Amulets are one way, a fairly primitive idea but effective if used correctly. Can anyone give me another way?"  
  
"What about rowan?" Seams Finnagan wanted to know. "Me mam won't let it grow in the garden, she says it's harmful to wizards and witches." Professor Reynolds nodded gravely.  
  
"That's a common idea, what was your name?" Seamus told him, and the teacher continued. "Rowan is considered 'witches' bane' today based on the Celtic idea. It originates possibly in Ireland as a conception, and if faith is strong enough, it can have effect." They looked confused, and the teacher hurried on.  
  
"What I mean is," he smiled at them, "If you have belief in something, a belief which you passionately believe in, the power of your mind can have a profound effect. It's a common muggle idea, that a patient suffering from illness can convince themselves that they feel better, and thus do get better. The belief in rowan is strengthened by the power of the mind – those who do believe in it would add to any defensive property it had and they are the ones who continue the idea of rowan as defensive magic. Do you see my point?"  
  
Hermione nodded, as did several others. Harry thought it through, then nodded also. It was an interesting idea.  
  
"So what about other defensive magic, Professor?" Parvati Patil asked curiously, seated beside Seamus. She was one of few girls still in the Gryffindor DADA class. "If rowan only works because people believe in it, then why does other magic work? If it's all in the mind, surely it only works because people believe in that, too?"  
  
Professor Reynolds' smile broadened, and he pointed to her. "That, ten points to Gryffindor," he declared. "You've hit upon it. Magic, when people look at it, is very difficult to contemplate. Why does it work? What makes it work the way it works, and not another way? And furthermore, does defensive magic work because it is defensive magic, or is it not simply the power of suggestion that makes our magic work a different way? All these questions are very difficult, no-one has really answered them in the study of magic across the years, and I certainly don't expect my sixth years to do so! But – questioning the way we think is a very good thing to carry through life, particularly at the moment."  
  
His face grew sombre. "You-Know-Who relies upon knowledge of how people think and react. If we change that, and Aurors do act differently to throw dark wizards off, he does not gain the advantage."  
  
Hermione put up her hand, and asked, thoughtfully, "Sir, if the retaliation to magic is in the mind, then what about the threat itself? If we didn't believe in magic, and said that its effect wouldn't harm us, why wouldn't it fall apart like defensive magic?"  
  
For a moment, Professor Reynolds looked happy, and bright, and then his face seemed to close, and tighten until he was expressionless. He glared at Hermione angrily.  
  
"This is theory only, Miss Granger," he snapped. "Magic does exist and is extremely powerful and dangerous in the wrong hands." He stopped, and as Harry watched, a faint spark of panic entered his eyes. The teacher cleared his throat, and collected himself, looking rather apologetic.  
  
"We'd best move on," he declared. "Now, this first term we will discuss preventative magic, the Easter term we shall move on to discuss counter- curses and jinxs, which are legal and which are not and why, what merits the term 'defensive' magic and why, and so on. In the summer term, we'll move on to study some famous examples, when the Unforgivables became illegal, the Auror system we have in place, and what problems we face. The final exam will cover a lot of what you already know, Dark creatures, spells you've learnt and so forth, so I think we'll revise that lot towards the end of the year, but plenty of continued practise."  
  
He moved on, leaving the three bewildered at his unpredictable changes of mood. Hermione seemed angry at him.  
  
"If he can't handle someone following on from a perfectly reasonable point in his theories, he shouldn't bring them up," she muttered darkly, shifting her books around to get out her quill and parchment. Ron and Harry exchanged glances across the table, and silently did the same.  
  
/  
  
A/N: Next chapter, Georgia joins the Gryffindors for Herbology, with the other 'Professor' Reynolds, and the Slytherins cause a lot of trouble. 


End file.
